


The Hanging Men

by eight_0f_hearts



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, bounty hunter AU, it's hiatus time which means i shall now start multichapters that i will hopefully finish, slow-build CS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eight_0f_hearts/pseuds/eight_0f_hearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan kills people for a living. Only bad people, mind - and if the stories are anything to go by, Captain Hook is certainly a bad person. Having been charged by the king to track him down, Emma has every intention of getting the job done quickly and quietly. Falling through a portal and getting stuck with the pirate? Definitely not part of the plan. </p>
<p>
  <i>Rule #1 of bringing a target back alive: don’t let them convince you not to.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of a vague idea, writer's block, and too many pirate fanmixes on 8tracks. Character relationships and backstories have been slightly fiddled with for this AU, as have the dynamics of the Enchanted Forest world.

Everything was going horribly wrong.

Emma swore as she sprinted through the dark, winding streets of the city. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her boots slipping and sliding across the damp cobbles. Rain was coming down in sheets, soaking her through, the lashing wind catching in her hair and her cloak, cutting across any inch of exposed flesh like a cold blade.

And behind her, the shouts of the guardsmen echoed, their heavy footsteps growing louder by the minute. She didn't dare look behind to see how close they were.

The streets were nearly empty at this time of night, courtesy of the strict curfew imposed by the Baron. The corpulent, corrupt Baron who now lay dead in his bedchamber, thanks to her knife in his throat. That had gone according to plan.

What had not gone according to plan was her escape. Somehow – what had happened, what had _happened_? – somehow, David and Snow had failed to pull through. They should have been waiting by the window, ready to sound the alarm if any of the Baron's home security noticed their presence. They should have been there to back her up.

But they weren't, and she had had to break a window and jump out – the sharp edges of the glass in the sill cutting a painful gash in her leg that even now she was struggling to ignore – and now she was running, pursued, frantically trying to reach the rendezvous point.

Somewhere deep inside there was panic – _what happened to them? –_ had they skipped out on her? Surely they wouldn't. Not David and Snow. Don't be silly, don't be _foolish-_

But hadn't she trusted Neal?

With a screeching whinny and the loud clatter of hooves on stone, a horse suddenly cut around the corner in front of her. She bit back a shout of surprise, stumbling back, and that was enough for her leg to give out under her with a white-hot flare of pain that had her crying out.

She landed on her back in a pool of rainwater, struggling to scramble back up when she was suddenly surrounded by soldiers, swords pointed in her direction from all sides, the sharp tips wavering perilously close to her flesh.

“Halt!” the man on the horse cried, dismounting and striding towards her. She squinted up at him, shaking damp strands of hair from her eyes, as she struggled to see in the dark – he wore a doublet of deep red, which gave her pause. The King's crest was emblazoned on the shoulder. This was not one of the local lawkeepers.

The guards who had been chasing her grabbed her by the arms, fingers digging into her painfully tightly as they hauled her to her feet. Emma yelped as she tried to avoid putting weight on her injured leg. Everything in her was crying out to struggle, to escape – but there were too many of them, too many swords far too close to her face, and she forced herself to remain still.

“Stop,” the man said – but he wasn't addressing her, he was turning towards the guards, and she watched as one of them stepped forward, obvious confusion crossing his face.

“This woman is under arrest! She's just murdered the Baron!”

“This woman,” the man in red said coldly, “Has had her presence explicitly requested by the _King himself_.” He turned, gesturing at the crest on his shoulder. “I think you'll find that rather overrules your petty murder.”

_The King?_ Emma thought. Her head was spinning – whether from the adrenaline-fuelled panic of everything that was happening or the blood loss, it was rather hard to tell.

“The King?!” the guard cried, echoing her thoughts.

“That is correct,” the man replied. “The _King_. So if you'll kindly hand her over to me?”

The guards looked at one another before one of them tore Emma's sword from her belt. She glared at them as she was roughly frisked for other weapons – hissing her annoyance as they managed to locate the two other knives she had hidden under her cloak and the one in her boot – before she was shoved towards the King's man, stumbling slightly. Though she kept her silence, her gaze darted across the soldiers that he had with him, measuring and calculating whether there was any possible way she could escape, but the man laid a hand on her shoulder, fingers tightening threateningly as he leaned in close to her ear.

“We have your two friends, my dear, so you'd do well to come quietly.”

She froze, shoulders stiffening – _so that's what happened – how? –_ why? _– where are they, what have they done to them –_

He gave her a push towards the horse, and she stumbled, catching herself against the saddle.

“Come on then,” he said. “The King is waiting.”

 

* * *

 

Emma had no idea what was going on.

That the King should know her name – should even know who she _was_ – was concerning in and of itself; the services she and her friends provided were supposed to be low key; an underground industry of quietly disposing of those who deserved it, whether it be hunting down the bounties of wanted criminals or performing assassinations of the corrupt and the unjust.

Even their clients seldom knew who, exactly, they had employed.

With no idea what was happening, she had little choice but to sit tight as they rode.

The fief the Baron had occupied was directly outside the capital city, where the King's castle rose from the tiered town in an impressive series of turrets and arches and high, whitewashed stone walls that gleamed even through the darkness of the rain and storm clouds.

She was shivering in her damp clothes by the time they thundered across the drawbridge and into the inner courtyard, where she was escorted at sword-point into the grand hall.

Emma had been inside all manner of castles, manors and mansions before, usually uninvited and often with intent to kill. She was difficult to impress – and King George, who sat up in his throne as they approached, was not a man who had ever earned her respect. Not when poverty and corruption were rife in his realm and he continued to pick wars with the surrounding kingdoms. For the sake of self-preservation, she didn't quite spit at his feet, but neither did she bow her head, staring up at him with all the defiance she could muster.

Which, admittedly, was disappointingly little when she was soaked to the bone, her hair hanging in limp clumps around her face and the wound on her leg still sluggishly leaking blood where it was starting to grow cold and numb.

“Your majesty,” the guardsman said, with a low bow. One of the soldiers grabbed Emma's head, fingers tangling in her hair, and forced her head down until she reluctantly bowed as well. “We have brought you Emma Swan.”

“I can see that,” George said drily. He flapped a hand. “Leave us.”

All the guards exited the room, though some remained standing at post at the door. Emma eyed the king with an undisguised mixture of confusion and distaste.

“Your majesty,” she began, and then coughed and tried again. Her mouth was dry from her earlier sprint, her muscles starting to shake from exhaustion and nerves. “What's the meaning of this?”

“Emma Swan,” he replied. “The fearsome assassin. I've heard a lot about you.”

“I can't imagine where,” she said with a frown. “I did think to pride myself and my friends on the discretion of our activities. Seems I'll have to revise that.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It was not easy finding information about you. But I have my ways.”

“What do you want from me?” From where she was standing she had to tilt her head up slightly to make eye contact, which she wasn't particularly happy about.

George tilted his head. “You're a hired sword. You kill people for the money.”

“Only those who deserve to die.”

“A mercenary with a moral code. How novel. I have a job for you.”

Emma blinked a few times, taken aback. _The King wants to employ me._

_...Okay._

“A job,” she repeated, slowly, and George nodded.

“From what I've heard you're efficient. Reliable. And loyal to your own convictions. That sounds like exactly the sort of person I need.”

“My convictions do not necessarily align with yours,” she said, before she could quite stop herself, and then grimaced. _Gods, Emma, don't run your mouth. Are you trying to get yourself executed?_

“In this instance, I think you'll have no objections.” He rose, then, and descended from his throne to stand in front of her. Emma held herself, meeting his gaze squarely. If he was irritated by her disrespect, he didn't show it.

“I need you to kill somebody.”

“I would have thought you have people for that. Knights.”

“We are about to go to war. I can't spare the men. What's more, the man I need you to hunt down runs in particular circles that it may not be easy for a... nobleman, or a lawkeeper, to gain access to. You, on the other hand...” He raised an eyebrow.

Emma shifted her weight. “Who is it?”

“A pirate,” he said, with a wry smile. “Who recently stole something very valuable from me. It's not the first time he's robbed me. I need you to retrieve the object and bring him to me _alive_ , so he can tell me where he hid the rest.”

“What did he steal?”

“It looks like a box.”

“That's... not very specific.”

“A cube. You'll know it when you see it. It has magical properties. _Powerful_ magical properties.” He flapped a hand impatiently. “He'll keep it on his person. If you have him, you have the box.”

“And what's this pirate's name?” Emma asked.

Another bitter smile. “He goes by Captain Hook.”

Emma froze. _Hook_.

She had heard of him, of course – who hadn't? He was one of the big names, someone you hoped never to encounter and rarely survived if you did. Or so they said, at any rate. She'd seen bounties out for him, of course – often and with increasing value each time. None of them worth risking her small band for.

“And if I say no?” Emma asked, slowly.

George's smile vanished. “I am not going to execute you, Miss Swan, or your friends, if that is what you are thinking. But tonight you killed a member of authority, not to mention I can likely tie you to several other prominent deaths over the last few years. If you would like to rot in a jail cell for the next decade, be my guest.”

He paused, then added, “I will pay you, generously, if you complete this task successfully. But more than that, I appeal to your principles; this man has stolen items that are necessarily for our kingdom's survival. Items that can be used as weapons in the upcoming war, that could save innocent mens' lives – and items of such great power that they can transcend realms.”

“Transcend realms?” Emma asked, and he nodded.

“Yes. Think of what we could do with the ability to travel to other lands. The trade opportunities – the discoveries we could make – advancements in healing, an improved economy. The benefits would spread to all.”

Emma was no fool; whatever Utopian picture he was painting was just that – a picture. She'd heard of world-jumpers before and in her opinion it caused nothing but trouble.

But still – she'd killed people for less. And she wasn't particularly patriotic, but pirates in any way, shape or form were generally bad news – both for the kingdom and for innocent people. Captain Hook in particular was not exactly beloved.

Not to mention she was also not particularly inclined to condemn herself, David and Snow to years in the dungeons, so she gave a stiff nod, seeing no other choice.

“Fine. I'll catch you your pirate.”

King George gave a smile that was more of a leer. “Excellent. I'll have your friends returned to you then.”

“We have a policy,” Emma added with a smirk, “That if our employer can afford it, they're required to pay for all expenses incurred during the job.”

He flapped a hand in her direction. “Of course. You may have lodging on castle grounds for the night and can inform my steward of what you will require in the morning. I expect it will take you some time to hunt him down.”

“That will depend on where he is.”

“Just remember. I want him _alive_.”

Emma nodded. He turned back to his throne and, assuming that she had been dismissed, she gave a half-bow before striding out of the room.

Her leg was throbbing, her head was pounding, and worst of all, she had absolutely no idea what she had just gotten herself into.

 

* * *

 

 

“We're going after Captain _Hook?”_ Snow asked, eyes wide.

The rooms they had been given were simple by Royal standards, but still far more extravagant than anything Emma had ever lived in. It wasn't as though they lived in squalor; the mercenary business paid well, after all, and for her adult life, at least, she had always had a solid roof over her head and a firm mattress to sleep on. But these chambers were all plush carpets, tapestry covered walls and far more objects of furniture with clawed feet than was really tasteful.

Emma nodded, and winced as David pressed a little too hard on the wound on her leg that he was cleaning out. It wasn't as bad as she had thought, just painful, and he glanced up at her with a slightly apologetic smile as he laid aside the damp cloth and reached for a roll of bandages.

“Apparently,” she replied, and tilted her head back, letting out a huff of breath. “Didn't exactly have much choice. Can you believe it? The King asking _us_ to kill somebody for him?”

“It'll certainly be one for the records,” Snow replied. “And we're... going to do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“We could run,” David pointed out. “Pretend to take the job and then move to another kingdom.”

Emma bit her lip, considering it.

“It's an option,” she said. “But... this is _Hook_. We'd have taken the bounty on him ages ago if we thought we could do it.”

“What makes you think we can do it now?"

“Royal funding?” she pointed out with a grin. “We never considered it seriously. I think we can do it. We'll be rich, the kingdom will be down one heinous villain, and we'll probably be safe from Royal arrest for the rest of our lives. Besides,” she added, only half-seriously, “Don't you want the chance to save our country? He's supposedly threatening national security by stealing whatever it was he stole.”

Snow and David exchanged glances, and Emma blinked.

“Wait, you seriously want to save the country?” she laughed. They had always been rather more patriotic than her, but she'd found it amusing more than anything else.

“It _is_ our _country_ ,” David pointed out. “And if there is a war coming – we should do what we can to help.”

“For God's sake, David, we're not heroes.”

“But we do try to _help_ people,” Snow pointed out, with the sort of earnestness that always made Emma wonder just how she had ended up a bandit in the first place. “We're not... we're not bad people. We take _down_ the bad people. I think we should definitely do this!”

“At least we're all on the same page then,” Emma said. She stretched her leg experimentally. The pain had dulled a little now, after a generous coating of expensive healing balm courtesy of the King's physician, and she shot David a grateful smile. “So we're settled then. We'll track him down and bring him back here. How hard can it be?”

“Just hard enough that no one else has caught him yet,” David pointed out, but smiled. “Should we call the others back in?”

Emma paused, thinking about it.

Their little group of mercenaries – organised enough that they were almost a business, if anything – consisted of five members, herself the unofficial leader.

It had used to be six, but they didn't talk about Neal.

Ruby was currently out hunting down a doctor who had been said to be stealing bodies and performing terrible experiments on them, and Robin was away doing his usual picking off of rich lords who bullied the peasants around Sherwood Forest. Both of them were far enough away that calling them back in would take up valuable time and likely cause their current targets to slip away.

She shook her head.

“No. We'll do it just the three of us. Small, fast, efficient. Just like the good old days.”

 

* * *

 

 

Killian Jones stood at the helm of his ship, staring at the small box he held in his hand, tapping it gently with his hook. The cube certainly looked like nothing special, but he could feel the evil within it, that tingling off-ness that seemed to permeate everything magical.

He shoved the object into his coat pocket and leaned against the ship's rail, shoulders hunched as he stared down into the dark, churning water below.

_So close. I'm so_ close _now_.

He squeezed the rail tightly with his hand until his knuckles ached, dug the metal of his hook into the wood. The anger was like a flame that had been hot and wild for so long that by now it had burned itself out, little more than dull embers in his stomach. And now that his revenge was in grasp – it felt like he should feel something _more_ , but somehow he couldn't, nothing but a dull numbness that pervaded his whole being and sometimes made him question whether he was even still alive anymore.

He moved his hand to his heart, reassured himself that the steady _thump_ was still there.

“Captain?”

The voice made him jump, and he spun around, irritated with himself for getting lost in thought to the extent that he couldn't notice even _Smee_ sneaking up on him.

“Smee,” he snapped. “What do you want?”

“What was that?” Smee asked, head tilting. “That box, the one you stole, what is it?”

He pulled it out again, ran his hook over the symbols carved into the side. _Alpha and Omega. The first and the last. Well, the 'last' part is certainly appropriate. This shall be the last damn thing the crocodile sees_.

“This, Mr Smee, is Pandora's Box.” A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “And the weapon that I shall use to get my revenge.”

“What are you going to?” Smee asked, with a boorish laugh, “Stuff the Dark One inside? He'll hardly fit!”

Killian scowled as he tucked the box away and strode towards the cabin, smacking Smee upside the head as he passed.

“It's _magical_ , you troglodyte. Is there a reason you came to bother me?”

Smee nodded vigorously as he scurried after his Captain. “Yes – yes, actually, I just received word about that thing you wanted.”

Killian stopped in his tracks, whirling around. Smee nearly crashed into him, catching himself just in time.

“You located it? Where?”

“A woman is selling one. A town on the East Coast. She's willing to trade.”

“Perfect,” Killian replied.

A cold smile spread across his face as he moved back to the till and slowly spun the ship East.

_Soon_. Soon he would have all the pieces he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! This is now the story that I write between writing other stories haha

The incredibly cunning plan was to seduce Captain Hook.

David was not a fan of the plan at all.

“This guy has evaded capture for years and you're seriously going to, what, just walk up to him and ask him to buy you a drink?” he asked dubiously.

“It's worked before,” Emma argued.

David shook his head. “It's too simple! What if he doesn't want to? What if you're not his type or-”

“David, think of the rumours we've heard about this guy,” Emma cut in, rolling her eyes. “I'm a reasonably attractive young woman. I'll suss him out, convince him to take me back to his ship – then lead him out back where you two can come back me up. Easy. Cunning does not necessarily equal complicated.”

Snow nodded. “You're selling yourself short,” she added. “You're rather more than 'reasonably attractive.”

“Thank you,” Emma said with a grin and a mock-bow. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

David still looked dubious, but there was little he could do now. They had tracked Hook quite easily to a small town on the East Coast, not too far away from the capital. It had only taken a few days to travel there. Word travelled fast whenever the notorious pirate was seen around, and it had almost been too easy.

Emma could see why David was worried, though. The plan _was_ simple. But she could think of no better way to get him alone. Right now their biggest strength was in numbers – and smarts. As long as he didn't suspect anything, they could catch him by surprise.

“Fine,” David said, letting out a huff of breath. “Let's get this over with then.”

When the Jolly Roger pulled into port, it wasn't long before people started talking about it, and it hadn't been hard to track Captain Hook down to a small pub near the docks. It was the sort of place Emma had seen in a hundred other towns; a quiet little hole in the wall which people frequently used as a meeting place to engage in unsavoury business without being disturbed.

“Right then.” Emma cracked her knuckles and tugged at the top of her bodice, skilfully arranged to show as much cleavage as possible. “You guys wait here. I'll try lead him out back.”

The other two nodded, and David began to slip away. Snow paused, however, catching at Emma's arm.

“Be careful,” Snow said quietly. “He doesn't have that reputation for no reason. Hook's a dangerous man.”

“Yeah, well I'm a dangerous woman,” Emma replied automatically, but frowned. Snow seemed distracted, almost nervous. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just...” Snow shook her head. “We're right near the border, that's all.”

Emma frowned in turn. She didn't know a great deal about Snow's past – for all that their little band of hunters were close to each other, they each had pasts that they divulged on a strictly need to know basis. And so far, there had been no dire reason for her to know anything more than that Snow had had some sort of falling out with Queen Regina of the adjoining country, and was now the most wanted person there. She had fled to King George's kingdom some time ago, where Regina's dark knights had no reason to venture.

“We'll be fine,” Emma assured her. “Besides, as soon as we've got him we'll head right back to the capital. Nothing to worry about.”

Snow nodded. “Yes,” she said, though the optimism in her voice sounded painfully forced. “Right. Well, good luck.”

“I won't need luck,” Emma replied with a grin, and headed inside.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything went horribly wrong right from the get-go.

The little bar was crowded as evening began to push in. This close to the docks the majority of people there were sailors, travellers and tradesmen. Emma pushed her hood back and adjusted her cloak to conceal the dagger at her belt. Her eyes swept the pub, taking note of the various clusters of people, before settling on a group in the corner.

Hook's crew.

She recognised a handful of their faces from wanted posters she'd seen, particularly around coastal towns. They were making little effort to hide, though, evidently confident that security was lax here. Most of them were engaged in dice games and rowdy drinking, and it took her a moment to locate the Captain himself.

In the darkest corner of the pub, she caught the gleam of light on metal. The infamous hook rested on a small table in a shadowy recess against the back wall. Hook's back was to her as he leaned forward, in deep conversation with a unobtrusive looking elderly woman.

Emma began drifting over, but she'd barely taken two steps before a short, beardy man with a red woollen hat stepped into her path.

“Excuse me,” she began, trying to get around him, but he inserted himself in her way again, shaking his head. He'd noticed her eye on Hook, she realised, and must be part of his crew.

“Captain's busy right now,” the man said. “No disturbances.”

“Oh,” she replied, and smiled pleasantly. “I was just intrigued. It's not often you see the great Captain Hook.”

Unfortunately, it seemed the man's fear of Hook's wrath was greater than his ability to be swayed by her charms.

“He'll be done in a bit,” he said, and grinned a bit, evidently used to curious women approaching his captain in these places. “You can get your fill of him then.”

Emma forced another smile and retreated back over to the bar area, taking a seat at the counter and ordering herself a drink, while keeping her eye on Hook in the corner. She tried to get a better look at the woman he was talking to. She certainly looked plain enough, wearing a simple black dress with a hooded cloak, the dim light of the single candle on the wall above them casting the wrinkles on her face into deep shadow, making her look almost haggard. Just a typical old woman, probably someone's grandmother, maybe a fisherwoman or a seamstress.

But by all accounts, she and Hook seemed to be undergoing a business transaction. As Emma watched, the woman passed some sort of pouch over to Hook, and he in turn handed her a coin purse. Emma's eyes widened at how large the sack of money actually was; it looked heavy, but the old woman had handed him something quite small. What on earth could it be that was so tiny but expensive?

A motion by the door caught her attention, and she turned to look. Her brows furrowed as she saw two of Regina's dark knights enter, fully decked out in their black armour. As she watched they ventured over to the bar, pulling off their helmets as they took seats and started to order drinks.

_Shit. Shit, shit – what are they doing here?_

Logically, she knew they were close to Regina's queendom – it wasn't unlikely that these knights were just on their way back from some sort of trip, probably not on the look out for Snow at all – but she couldn't help the nervousness that was suddenly brewing in her stomach. It didn't help that she hadn't been expecting Hook to be here on business, and while the hiccup in their plans was small – all she had to do was wait for him to finish, after all – it was still throwing her off.

_Maybe we should reschedule._

The thought hit her out of nowhere, and suddenly all she could think of was calling this off. Waiting, regrouping, tracking him down somewhere else – hopefully somewhere farther away from the border – trying this again when everything was running smoothly.

But the man in the red hat had already seen her, and if she popped up again in the same bar as Hook he'd probably think she was stalking him. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths, to quell the panic. It had been a long time since a job made her feel this nervous. Then again, she was working for the king – and trying to bring in one of the most dangerous men in the land.

She turned back to Hook just in time to see the old woman standing up and making her way out of the pub. Hook himself remained seated a moment longer, turning the small pouch over and over in his hands.

Then he abruptly rose, shoving the pouch into the pocket of his coat, and began striding over.

Emma sat up straighter, readying herself to make her way across – or waiting to see if he'd come over to the pub – but to her surprise he pulled the man in the hat aside. They were close enough that if she concentrated, she could hear their conversation.

“Mr Smee, gather the men. We're getting out of here now.”

“What, right this instant?”

“That's generally what _now_ means.” There was a snap of irritation in Hook's voice, and Emma's heart sank. She'd caught him in a bad mood, just brilliant. “We have work to do and daylight's wasting.”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Smee spluttered nervously, “The men are exhausted, you too! We've been running around nonstop these last few days. We've barely made port since we stopped off in the Capital to, to rob the king or whichever, and even then we didn't have the chance to get some downtime. People are getting restless.”

Hook glared at him, jaw set and tense, but Smee waved a hand towards the rest of the crew.

“Look at them. Would it hurt to take just this one night off? You could do with a break yourself.”

 _Come on, come on_ , Emma thought.

To her relief, Hook gave a reluctant, jerking nod.

“I suppose we can set off tomorrow,” he said, and a wide smile stretched out across Smee's face.

“Excellent!” He put a hand on Hook's shoulder and suddenly turned him towards Emma. She hurried to school her features, pasting on a flirtatious smile as she raised her mug of ale to her lips, watching him over the rim.

“In fact,” Smee continued, “You have quite the admirer over there. I think she wanted to talk to you.”

“Is that so,” Hook replied, and before Emma knew it, he was coming over. Internally blessing Smee for inadvertently helping her so much, she brushed her hair back over her shoulders and straightened her dress. There was an empty stool next to her, and Hook made a beeline for it, sliding in to sit beside her.

He didn't speak to her at first, just called out to the bartender, and she took the chance to glance over and get a good look at him.

She had seen his face plastered across various wanted posters over the years, but none of them came close to the real live version.

For a moment, as he turned to order his drink, all walls dropped and he just looked – tired. That was the first word that sprang to mind. She wasn't sure what she'd expected – a murderous glint in his visage, perhaps, something coldly inhuman about him.

But there were tiny creases of exhaustion and dark shadows lining his blue eyes. He didn't look vicious or violent, just weary and almost sad, and more in need of a good night's sleep than about to go out and commit nefarious crimes.

Then his drink arrived, and he turned to her, and the tiredness melted away in place of a wicked smirk. In light of what she'd just seen, it didn't seem particularly genuine – but she was good at reading people, and to anyone else it would have seemed entirely real.

But there it was. The pirate she'd expected, grinning at her, one eyebrow raised – and she could see now, why in spite of the tales of danger and death surrounding him, women and men alike were so enamoured by him. Captain Hook was certainly not lacking in the looks department, though at the same time there was a tightness to his features and the set of his shoulders that suggested he could snap into action at a moment's notice.

He did not seem like an easy man to catch off guard, but Emma Swan had always enjoyed a challenge.

“I heard you wished to speak with me,” he said, his eyes flicking over her before coming back up to meet her eyes. “I'll not lie to you, love, I'm a little harried at the moment.”

“Really?” she replied, matching his raised eyebrow with one of her own. “Because your reputation precedes you. I'd hate to be disappointed by the real thing.”

He looked a little startled by her jibing comment.

“You've got spirit,” he said finally, turning to take a sip of his ale. “So what did you want?”

It was glaringly obvious to her that he wasn't in the mood. She had not prepared for this. Given the stories she'd heard about him, well... she'd sort of assumed that he'd be _permanently_ in the mood. This was an unexpected eventuality and to be honest, she was a little floored. Whatever it was he'd been talking to that old woman about – whatever it was she'd given him – it must be pretty damn important to be preoccupying him so much.

If anything, it was his pride keeping him talking to her, a desire to uphold his reputation. If she wanted to play on that, she'd have to be forward.

“What do you think I want, Captain?” she asked, leaning towards him and resting a hand on his knee. She felt him stiffen, his eyes flicking down to her hand and then back up to her eyes. Cautious, but curious.

“I've heard so much about you,” she continued, “and I-”

He scraped his stool back, brushing her hand from his leg.

“As I said, wench,” he repeated. “I'm a little harried right now.”

He was turning to leave, and Emma's heart sank – _shit, shit, this is not going according to plan –_ it seemed the usual, artificial bar hook-up talk hadn't worked. She had to act fast – had to catch his interest somehow.

“I've heard so much about you,” she continued loudly, “and to be honest I'm surprised you haven't been captured by the King's guard by now, because you're a damn idiot.”

Hook froze where he stood, before slowly turning back towards her. There was a dangerous glint in his eye now as he leaned over her, pressing her back against the bar bench. She lifted her chin, kept defiant eye contact.

“Would you like to expand on that, love?” he asked softly.

She smirked up at him. “The whole town knows you're here. If I could track you down, who's to say the King hasn't?”

“I don't make a habit of hiding my presence unless it serves me to,” Hook scoffed. “I could take on the King's men easily. I don't see what a peasant woman would know about it, in any case.”

“Who says I'm just a peasant woman?” she demanded. “I've spent my fair share of time dodging the lawkeep, and announcing your presence wherever you go is not the way to do it.”

She'd piqued his interest now, she could see it. He slowly sat back down, seeming far more interested in this topic of conversation than he was with her earlier – admittedly rather unoriginal – pickup lines.

“As you said,” he replied, “Having a reputation as big as mine means you need to do things differently. But I'm far more curious why a young woman such as yourself would need to fear the law.”

“Growing up on the streets, you learn to take what you can, even if it doesn't belong to you.”

She was perhaps injecting a little too much of her real history into the story here – but damn, it had to work, it _had_ to – and at these words something flickered in his eyes. Something almost sympathetic.

She must have been imagining it. Sympathy wasn't in the cards when it came to the fearsome Captain Hook.

“Be that as it may, there's a vast difference between a common thief and the most feared man on the high seas.”

“Pretty sure that's Blackbeard,” she couldn't help saying, and his face clouded over.

“Bloody hell, love. Mr Smee gave me the impression you were quite an admirer of me, yet here you insult me at every turn.”

She opened her mouth to reply, when the door opened again. She glanced over, and her eyes widened as even more dark knights flooded in – it had to be a whole patrol of them. Though they looked to be off duty, heading over to join the original two by the bar, she couldn't help stiffening, wondering what their business was in this area.

“I...” faltering a moment, she forced herself to look back at Hook and try to pick up the threads of their conversation. He was watching her with raised eyebrows, expectantly. _Close it. Close it now, as fast as you can._

“I do admire you,” she replied. “A great deal, in fact. I suppose I can't help it, the cynic in me is nothing if not critical. They do say to never meet your heroes.”

“Perhaps I'll just have to convince you that I can live up to your ideal then,” he said slowly. “I don't suppose you'd care to take a look at my ship. I assure you it is far superior to Blackbeard's,” he spat the name, “In every capacity.”

Emma's heart was pounding. She could not believe how quickly he'd fallen for it – especially given how much she'd fumbled things at the start – and she quickly nodded. _Close it now._

“I... yes. Yes, I'd like that.”

He tossed a handful of coins on the counter and offered her his arm. She took it, shooting the black knights one last glance before allowing him to lead her outside. All she had to do was get him into the alley where Snow and David were waiting and-

“So who are you really, love?”

“What?” she asked, turning to him only for him to slam her abruptly, roughly, against the wall. They were in a narrow street down the side of the pub. Dusk had fallen, and there was nobody around to see as he pushed her back against the brickwork. She swallowed hard as she felt the sharp, cold prick of metal against her neck as he pressed the tip of his hook to her throat.

_Damn it._

He hadn't been fooled so easily after all.

“Honestly, I'm not very impressed.” And suddenly she realised just why people feared this man as much as they were intrigued by him. His eyes were cold and dark and _empty_ , and she knew instantly that he could slit her throat without a second thought. “Shoddy work, my dear. Really, really shoddy.”

“I don't know what you mean,” she said slowly, not breaking his gaze as her hand inched towards her own knife.

He grabbed her wrist, making her jump, gripping hard enough to hurt.

“You're no bar wench but you're no common thief either. I saw you watching me earlier. Frankly, darling, you played it far too on the nose.” He scoffed out a laugh. “It was almost embarrassing, to be honest.”

Despite herself, she felt her cheeks burning. She was normally far better than this – smooth and calm and put together, the black widow honing in on her targets and reeling them in like flies in a web – but things had just gone _wrong_ this time, maybe it was the pressure of a job this scale, maybe the black knights or David's doubt in her moments beforehand -

“So who are you then?” and the sharp metal tip pressed harder against her flesh. Her breaths stilled and shallowed. “An agent of the king? Or of Blackbeard, perhaps?”

“Neither,” she replied coldly, still meeting his gaze. “I am one thing, though.”

“What's that then?” His breath was warm on her face where he leaned towards her, and when she smiled he was so close that she could see it reflected in his blue eyes.

“Not alone.”

Confusion crossed his features for a moment before the twang of a bow echoed through the silent street and he fell forward with a shout of pain, Snow's arrow buried deep in his shoulder. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall as Emma squirmed free, drawing her knife.

“Cutting it a bit close there, guys,” she shouted, as her two accomplices sprang from the shadows to join her, another arrow already notched to Snow's bow.

“How the hell'd he get the jump on you?” David demanded.

Hook was one tough son of a bitch; he'd already snapped the arrow at the head and was drawing his own sword, springing forward without a second's hesitation to counter David's first blow. Emma charged in and kicked him, knocking him back against the wall, and as he struggled to parry her knife David moved in to strike at him with the butt of his sword.

Hook ducked, the hilt striking the wall behind him with a metallic clang, and took the opportunity to knee David heavily in the gut. The man fell back, coughing, and Snow – who had pulled out her own sword, as they were all too close together for the bow to be used safely – advanced upon the pirate with Emma.

The two women struck at him at the same time, but Hook moved with a speed and fluidity that honestly astounded Emma; she had been in only a few swordfights in her time, preferring to rely on speed and stealth to avoid open combat, but the man was faster than any swordsman she'd seen before, and within moments he'd disarmed her, kicking her dagger out of her hand and knocking her flat on her back against the cobbled street.

Her head struck the ground hard and for a moment she was disoriented, but when she sat up, already scrabbling for her knife, it was to find Snow and David bearing down on Hook. Through luck and force of numbers they'd gotten him back against the wall and he seemed to be ailing a little; as she watched David managed to get in a punch to where the arrowhead was still buried in his shoulder and the pirate shouted in pain, leaving an opening for Snow to land a hard blow to his stomach that sent him gasping to his knees.

That was when the pub door banged open.

Alerted by the noise outside, a few of Regina's dark knights had emerge to investigate. Emma froze in horror. She could _see_ the moment they all noticed Snow. Her face had undoubtedly been drilled firmly into their memory by Regina and Snow herself had an expression of dawning horror.

“Get her!” the lead knight shouted. The handful of soldiers advanced and as Snow drew her bow quickly, turning towards them, Emma saw Hook take the opportunity to duck away from the two bounty hunters and make off down the street.

Panic overtook her. After so many jobs it was ingrained in her – _don't let the mark get away –_ especially when they were someone of such high priority, someone who could take to the seas and slip away for months if not years – without thinking she raced after him. Her head was still reeling from hitting the ground so hard, but she launched herself through the air and tackled him.

They both hit the road hard enough to knock the wind out of them, and the little pouch from earlier bounced out of Hook's coat pocket and spilled its contents out onto the road.

A single bean.

Emma's first thought was, _what the fuck_ , because who the hell paid so much gold for a single legume.

Then the portal appeared.

A swirling, purple portal that materialised right under where the bean had fallen and promptly began sucking in both of them. Her fingers were grasped tight in his jacket where she'd fallen on him, and it all happened so fast – she'd barely blinked when suddenly her legs were being dragged into what felt like _nothingness_ , and she didn't even have time to panic.

The last thing she saw was David and Snow, felling the last black knight before they turned towards her, and their horrified faces as they realised what was happening just as she was pulled into the void.

 


End file.
